A few days ago, I broke down and invested in an Ergo carrier to help me tote around my giant baby boy. The Ergo is designed to carry the baby differently than the Baby Bjorn we were using before: in an Ergo, the baby’s legs are wrapped around you, rather than hanging down. No legs hanging down means all I feel in front is a big rounded lump of his butt and back. Sound familiar?
It sure feels familiar. If I put my hands on his body and close my eyes, I have a very strong physical feeling of being pregnant again, but it’s as if my tummy has gone terrifyingly numb, since, of course, it’s not my tummy. It’s super creepy, and I can’t stop doing it because the chance to remember that feeling is too tempting.
It’s amazing how fast the physical memories fade. In the first few days after Ezra was born, I could really remember what labor felt like, and I thought that would be true forever. It barely lasted a month. I can’t recreate in my mind what a kick felt like. What it felt like the first time he nursed.
And yet, there’s not really a sense of loss because each of those faded sensations is replaced by a new one, like the hollow pop I get when I go to kiss his cheek and instead get his wide open smiling mouth or the heft of his body on my legs when we play superman. Next week, there will be something else. Always in exchange for losing the old, there is the never-ending promise of something delightful and new right around the corner.